


Christmas Traditions

by cacaophany



Series: Sasha James and the Untold Horrors After Her Supposed Death [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, and escapes into michael's realm, hijinks ensure, sasha lives, the christmas special you didn't know you wanted
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-02-17 05:49:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13070430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cacaophany/pseuds/cacaophany
Summary: A door appeared, and offered escape from the NotThem's dimension for our Sasha. Stumbling into this bright new void, who should she run into but a tall, blond and nauseating stranger? Michael gets bored very easily, but is very intrigued by this 'Christmas' Sasha talks about. Now it's just a matter of keeping Michael entertained until she can escape.





	1. Déjà vu

If Sasha had known that the door would take her from a dark featureless void to a blindingly white featureless void, she might have been a little less rash in rushing through it. She could barely see at first, blinded by the sudden influx of light that must have been missing before. She blinked, eyesight slowly adjusting. In front of her, waiting, was a man. He was tall, leering down at her with a deeply unsettling smile. Sasha stepped back tightening her grip on the notebook in her hand. For a second the man had looked... off. Maybe it was the sharp glare of the light on her glasses, but he suddenly looked tall, too tall, with large, huge hands that ended in sharp points. Another blink and her vision of him was restored to that of a taller than average man with blond hair.

Swallowing down a burst of panic, Sasha stepped forward, jutting her chin out towards him. Playing offensive. She had the faintest memory of kicking a ball around a field. "What are you?" she asked.

The man laughed. An impossibly loud, soft chuckle that made Sasha bend in half and clamp her hands over her ears until he stopped, and then she was still dazed by the ringing in her ears. "You've asked me that before!" he chided, pulling out a chair from the seemingly empty void around them. He straddled the back of it and faced her. "Don't you remember?" His head tilted at a perverse angle.

Sasha had a feeling he knew about her amnesia, the fact that she held onto her own name with a fraying thread. It riled her, how amused he was at his own knowledge. Scowling, she glared at him, pushed her glasses up her nose. She wasn't going to answer that.

The man sighed, rested his head on the back of his hand. Except... no that wasn't right... his arm shouldn't have been able to make that angle. A wave of nausea rushed through her, and she decided to direct her focus on his eyes. They didn't blink, but her stomach was calm. "Before you ask, you can call me _Michael._ You don't need to introduce yourself to me, Sasha James." 

"Have we met before?" Sasha snapped, reacting against his cat-and-the-cream grin. 

"Now Sasha," he said, barely containing his laughter. "I thought we were _friends._ " Sasha had to stop herself from looking at his smile. It was too long, his mouth, his grin really was starting to stretch ear to ear. 

"Friends?" she asked, trying to find something to focus on that wouldn't make her nausea worse.

 _"Yes,"_ he said, annoyed. "We shook on it." Her eye was drawn to his hand. She was surprised his fingers didn't cut into the flesh of his face. "That's one of the reasons why I made you the door."

"You saved me because we were- are friends?" Sasha repeated. Something about a glint to his eye, the cruel smile to his... no... _its_ face made her doubt its innocent intentions. 

"No!" It laughed again, and Sasha only just fought off the urge to cover her ears. "I _made you the door._ Partly because I very much _dislike_ the... NotThem, as your Jon would call them." That name seemed familiar, but before Sasha could dwell on it Michael let out another booming peel of laughter. "And because I thought it would be... fun." 

Sasha didn't like the way it said 'fun'. She didn't want to know what it did for 'fun'. Before she could speak, still stunned by its laughter, it continued. 

"All you've done so far is repeat a conversation we've already had!" it bemoaned, rolling its head in exasperation at an angle that should have definitely broken its neck. Sasha was beginning to think it didn't have a neck, or any bones at all. "Making that door was very exhausting, you know. Maybe it would have been better to put you into my maze.." Its eyes gleamed, fixing on her.

Sasha took a step back, sweat trickling down her neck. Suddenly, faster than she could see Michael rushed up and towered over her, larger, taller, _impossibly_ tall. _Stretching._ "Maybe there's a use for you yet..." Its finger crept under her cheek, tilting her chin up towards its distorted, pulled face. It felt sharp, like a blade to her skin. Sasha shivered and swatted its hand away, stepping backwards again. Michael continued approaching. Despite the formless void around them, Sasha had the distinct feeling of the walls closing in on her, pushing her back, back, back. 

"You aren't protected here," it mused, voice increasingly strange, like it was speaking in dissonant chords. "I'm ever so curious about you humans. I could take you apart and see how the insides work..." Michael's hands twitched. 

Sasha couldn't hide the horror from her face as she kept backing up. What the hell had she walked into? She kept moving until she was stopped by the press of hard wood to her back. Sasha glanced over her shoulder to see another door. Her hand gripped the doorknob as she turned back to Michael, made to turn the handle.... Until her hand froze in place. There was a look of utter glee on Michael's face, the look of a cat cornering an unsuspecting mouse. Michael was monstrous now, utterly terrifying. An abstract painting of a man, strange angles, distended flesh; a looming figure that would haunt her nightmares if she lived to sleep again, but _**fuck**_ being a mouse. 

"You can't kill me," Sasha stated, heart caught in her throat as Michael approached. Its arms were like tree branches, bending, curving without the underlying structure of a skeleton, but still incredibly strong. Strong enough to suffocate her, to crush her spine like a dead leaf if they fell on her. 

A flash of annoyance passed over Michael's face. "Why not?" It looked at her hand on the doorknob with longing. 

"Because... Because..." Sasha could barely keep down the panic as it reached its hand towards her, fingers elongating and stretching, like a massive spider. "Because it's... it's Christmas!" 

Michael stopped in its tracks. Sasha took her hand from the doorknob, chest rising and falling as she waited to see what Michael would do. _Christmas?_ That was the best excuse she could come up with? It probably wasn't even Christmas-

"Christmas?" Michael echoed, shrinking down to a more reasonable height. It gave another, long, ear-bleeding laugh. Sasha went pale with dread, bracing herself for a slash of its hand that never came. "Why's that going to stop me?" 

"You... You can't kill friends on Christmas," Sasha said through gritted teeth, trying to keep her voice from going up at the end. If Michael laughed again she doubted she would hang onto consciousness, and then he could do whatever he wanted.

Michael paused. Hummed. "Interesting..."

Sasha saw her chance. Straightening her back, she continued. "Do you not _know_ about Christmas?" she asked, trying to act teasing and friendly and not terrified and skydiving without a parachute. "I could tell you all about it."

Michael grinned, and in the blink of an eye was once again the human-like form it had been before. It clapped its still too-large hands in front of itself, except the clap came out like a boom of thunder. It was almost preferable to its laugh. "Please, teach me about this Christmas of yours." 

Sasha smiled, a shaky, unsteady thing. She stumbled back suddenly, the door behind her gone, vanished. It was just her and Michael. Her, Sasha... James? she think it said, and this otherworldly being who had been a moment away from ripping her open. 

Maybe she shouldn't have walked through that door.


	2. It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas?

Christmas, why in _Christ's_ sake had she chosen Christmas? She could barely remember anything about the holiday other than the scent of cinnamon and the colours green, red and white. Now her entire life was dependent on it. Sasha let out a bitter bark of laughter, wiping away the sweat on her brow. Well done, _Sasha James._ Good fucking job. 

"Well..." Sasha trailed off, looking around the featureless void around her as if it would give her any clues. Michael stood in front of her, normal now, if she didn't pay much attention. "The... the first important thing about Christmas that you definitely should know... is... is the tree!" Sasha declared, trying to look braver than what she felt. There was a Christmas tree, right? That was a thing?

Luckily Michael seemed quite enamoured with this tidbit. It rubbed its hands together. They stretched with the movement, no, they _squirmed_ , like a pile of worms. Somehow it looked utterly gleeful "The tree?" it asked, head canting to the side. Like a puppy, if its neck hadn't taken such a sharp, broken angle...

"The... the tree..." Sasha continued, grasping for the name of the Christmas tree. She could remember the smell of it, fresh and nose-tingling, God she missed trees, but not the name. "The... the triangle tree..." she muttered to herself, pinching the bridge of her nose under her glasses. 

"A triangle tree?" repeated Michael, standing up to its overwhelming, towering full size. 

Sasha lit up, the name finally coming to her. "No- a- a- pine tree!" It was already too late. There, standing in the corner of their featureless void, was a triangle tree. Its trunk was a triangle, and along its scalene branches hung triangle shaped leaves of bright, jarring, neon shades. Her stomach wrung itself into a knot. The tree's edges and points looked razor sharp, and the whole thing hummed with pure menace. 

It seemed like days before Sasha convinced Michael that the triangle tree, while certainly festive, was _not_ a Christmas tree. Then again, there was no way to tell the time here. Perhaps it had been only a few minutes of Sasha frantically denying that the triangle tree was 'close enough' to a pine tree, and then maybe a few more as she grappled with her own memory to describe what a pine tree looked like. It certainly felt like days though, and all she had to show for it was a tiny, potted Christmas tree. Michael couldn't get the smell right, substituting the dirty ozone, electrical smell of the triangle tree. That upset Sasha the most. 

Decorations were another struggle. The tinsel didn't take too long to explain, though when Sasha wound it around the tree it made a horrible, grating static noise. She was beginning to learn she would have to pick her battles. A single, bright yellow star swayed from the top branch precariously. Sasha tried not to look too closely at the baubles as she hung them. They were squishy and hyper-realistically painted to look like bloodshot, gaping eyes. She pretended not to notice the irises following her movements. 

"Is this... Christmas?" Michael asked, voice an imitation of childhood wonder as the two of them sat staring at their completed Christmas tree. Sasha didn't answer, hugging her knees to her chest. 

* * *

In this void Sasha's body seemed released from its previous stasis. Her stomach churned for food and her eyes weighed for sleep, but neither could be fulfilled if she could not stop Michael from looking at her with those blue, sharp eyes. Michael's appetite for Christmas was apparently insatiable. 

Introducing Michael to Christmas dinner had been a nightmare. From their table busied all sorts of 'delicacies' that came straight from her nightmares. A roasted turkey, _dead,_ she had emphasised, stuffed with candy canes. Truffles coated with a fine dust of hard coconut shell. The fruit mince pies she had really buggered up explaining; they ran around the table, and when they settled they laid chocolate eggs. The more she thought about the eggs the more wrong they seemed for Christmastime, but the last time she had tried to offer Michael ‘constructive criticism’ it had laughed and her whole world had turned sideways for a few moments.

However she could pick a few morsels to satisfy herself with from the dinner. A crunchy, dry mouthful of roast vegetables. A bloody, oozing slice of ham wedged between some fruit loaf. A glass of curry-mulled wine. God knows she wouldn't dare touch the eggnog, though Michael seemed to enjoy the drink. She couldn't look at the way its throat distorted as it swallowed down egg after egg, whole in its shell. 

She felt better with some food in her, better than she had in a long time. It was no longer a stretch to remember her name, _Sasha,_ to hold it close to her heart. It was only difficult when Michael started to laugh again, amused by some new Christmas novelty. Despite then, whatever fog had descended upon her mind was slowly starting to lift, like the sun was burning it up.

She would have to escape. This Schezernade of hers could not last forever, if she could last through it. Briefly, she wondered after her sanity after witnessing the Christmas pudding singing to Michael, though questioning her sanity was not something new to her. Hopefully, just maybe, she could escape before her hold on sanity completely broke. 

* * *

"Family? Isn't that some sort of _disease?"_ asked Michael, sneering derisively at her latest Christmas tradition. 

"Sometimes it feels like it," Sasha snorted. It seemed like an appropriate joke to make, even though she had only a vague idea of her own family. She must have come from a mother and a father, and perhaps she'd had some siblings. A sister? A brother? Whenever she tried to remember them her memory turned into itself, leaving her cold and alone. She must have had a family... "But it's tradition. Christmas isn't Christmas without family. Or loved ones." Just in case.

"Loved ones?" Michael asked, swatting the pom-pom on the end of its green Santa hat. It made the noise of a caterwauling cat when Michael hit it. Sometimes it twisted and moved, like something was trapped inside it. It was best not to think too hard about things in this place. 

"Your... Your friends- _Close_ friends." 

"Are we close friends?" Michael chirped. 

Sasha felt sweat gather at the back of her neck. "I'm not sure. Do you... Do you know my... favourite colour?"

Michael paused, staring off into the distance. For a second Sasha thought she had broken Michael. It was like it was frozen in place, like someone had picked up a Michael Remote and pushed the stop button. Sasha warily stood up, made to shake its shoulder. Suddenly he was back, and with a blink turned its skin fluorescent… black-white-purple. "Is this it?" 

Sasha pulled back and clutched her hand to her chest, quickly looking away. She had seen UV lights before… at least she thought she had. It actually hurt to look at its body. She shook her head vehemently. "Nope."

Michael sighed, skin turning back to its usual peach hue. "I'm not sure you could even see that wavelength," it pouted, sour. 

For some reason Sasha felt uncomfortably guilty for ruining Michael's mood. "Was... Was that your favourite colour?" 

"No," said Michael. "Would you like to see it?" 

Filled with dread, Sasha quickly shook her head, crossing her hands over her chest. "No! No I... I want to find out for myself?" She gave a nervous chuckle, hoping that it wouldn't prompt Michael to laugh. 

She continued on quickly. "Anyway, as I was saying... Family is important at Christmas time. I should go visit mine, or some of my close friends." Sasha tried to stay casual, hoping that Michael wouldn't realise her true intent. She glanced at Michael from the corner of her glasses. Due to an unfortunate incident with the Christmas crackers the left lens of her glasses had gained a nasty crack. It splintered off like a strike of lightning. Somehow the lens had stayed intact, but it meant that sometimes she couldn't tell what was Michael distorting and what was her glasses. 

Pulled from its sulk, Michael suddenly sat up, torso far too long. Its face split, literally, into a wicked grin, twisting Sasha's smile. "Why don't we have them here?" it asked, standing up from the table. 

"N-no, no, no, no please, just... Just wait a second." The blood dropped from Sasha's face, leaving her cold and light-headed. What had she done? “We don’t… We can’t-“

Michael snapped its too-long fingers with relish. Next to Sasha a figure burst into existence, so close that Sasha screamed. She expected them to return the favour, but was instead met with uncanny silence. 

She looked over at Michael, horror on her face as it stared at the figure with obvious distaste. "This one is _protected_ ," it hummed. 

Confused, Sasha turned back to the person- except, it wasn't a person. She reached out to touch its skin, flinching at how cold it was, and rubbery. Its ‘flesh’, hyper-realistic down to the body hair, _squeaked_ as she rubbed it. When she squeezed its arm it compressed easily, like it was full of air. It was... it was a balloon? It rotated towards Sasha, greeting her with an achingly familiar face. Straight, dirty-blonde fringe hiding dark, angry eyes. An upturned, button nose that was unexpectedly charming. 

"This is the only one who remembers you," said Michael. Sasha snapped her head back to Michael, a bolt of despair striking her stomach. 

"Wh... What do you mean?" Sasha pushed the balloon woman away from her, wrapping her arms around her stomach. "There's... There's got to be others?" Her voice was edging hysteria, soaring octaves. "I've... I've got family! Friends! I... I have to!" Michael’s face twitched with a smile that so desperately wanted to stretch. 

"You have me," said Michael. A knife twisted in Sasha's stomach like a long, impossibly sharp finger. 

"No. There's... There's got to be other people who remember me!" Sasha might have completely lost her marbles and her memory but there had to be people who remembered her? People who cared that she'd been missing and locked up in some _fucked up_ dimension? Sasha gripped her braids, eyes moving wildly from side to side as she tried to remember anyone. "Jon, you mentioned... You mentioned someone by the name of Jon? He must be my friend!"

Michael looked at her, face an odd configuration of pity. The kind of pity you would feel before spraying an ant trail, mixed with the satisfaction of watching them squirm. "Don't you know anything about the NotThem?" It took Sasha's silence as answer. "It steals your memories and then it steals _you_. Your Jon may _know_ that _you_ exist, but he does not know _you._ " Michael gestured towards the balloon-woman. "She is the only one that remembers _you_. The NotThem likes its games." Its voice lilted as it spoke, rich with delight. Sasha looked up at it, not sure when Michael had started growing, branching to its impossibly tall height. 

With a sudden _pop_ the balloon woman besides her flew off, careening through the air as it deflated, letting off that high-pitched, whining sound of a balloon running out of air. It wasn't until it had fallen to the ground, a wrinkled shell, that Sasha realised that she was screaming and Michael was _laughing_.

She was going _fucking insane_... Sasha curled over, hands squeezed over her ears. It was all too much, the laughter, the balloon woman, the triangle tree smell, the putrid smells of Christmas dinner... She was going to break and then Michael would put her into its maze and take her apart... God, she was going to die alone because of this creepy man-like _thing_ and no one would even remember her! Would they even notice that she had gone? And to make it worse she had spent her last few days of life trying to delay this by pretending it was _fucking Christmas!_

The walls of the wall-less void were tight once more, compressing her fragile human body. Michael’s laughter was so, _so_ loud, her entire body shook with it. The entire world seemed to turn, gravity pulling awkwardly on Sasha's organs, reaching and ripping her apart from many directions. She was falling to pieces, atomic bonds breaking, the strings that tied her together crumbling like sand. 

Nothing felt real any more. 

Maybe... Maybe nothing was real. 

_Nothing was real..._

Slowly, Sasha steadied her breathing. The Christmas tree wasn’t real, neither was the food or the Santa hats or this place. Nothing was real but Michael’s cacophonous laughter and her own cells that clung onto each other, stubbornly refusing to just let go. She was silent for a few minutes, hours, days - had she been sobbing? Then, like a fern frond unfurling, Sasha pulled herself upright, wiping her tears off her cheeks. The room was empty once more, an almost peaceful, blank whiteness. Sasha stared at it, all, eyes wide and unseeing and prickling with pain. 

Michael took its hand down from its mouth, stifling its laughter with a twisted smile. Maybe that was just its smile. "Good," it said. If it could feel proud, it sounded it. 

Sasha came back to herself, not quite sure what had just happened, but... but that was okay. She turned to face Michael, giving it a brave smile. "Have you ever heard of ice skating?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to mvp of the year Izzy again for inspiring me to get off my lazy ass and put out the next chapter like some godforsaken serf who has to farm her own food. Thanks to all that gave kudos and wonderful little comments that made my day! <3

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to my mvp izzy for both creating this initial idea and being my general hypeman xox


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